Chapter Text
𝐌𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐢𝐚 -
"A process of fundamental psychological transformation, often precipitated by crisis, breakdown, or existential conflict. It denotes a shift in an individual’s perception of self, others, or life itself"
Humans, odd things, are they not? Always so full of emotion, so eager to shift and mold into what environment they were forced into since birth. Given the illusion of choice, unbeknownst to them that they are nothing more than cattle grazing in an artificial pasture.
Fate is nothing but inevitable. One's fate is predetermined since before they were born, no doubting that. Really— it's right in the open, but people are so blinded by their beliefs and practices to truly see it.
Until that changes.
A shift, the veil being lifted, if you will. It happens to all of us at some point in our pathetic lives, although only some truly realize what it means to see beyond.
And Truthless Recluse has done just that. He has opened his eyes, he's seen how the world is full of deceit. He knew, he knew that fact the second he dipped into the Yogurt River and came out screaming in agony.
Yet, he has no choice but to accept it. He has no choice but to stay in the spire of deceit, no choice but to suffer. After all, what makes you feel alive if not suffering? It's almost became... Addicting, in a sense.
He loathes it. He loves it.
⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆
Tight blue strings cut into his limbs as he squirmed, holding him in place. "Let me go!" Truthless Recluse barked, grunting. He was tied up in the spire, in pitch black darkness with blue eyes surrounding him, burning into his skin, with the one he hates the most in front of him. Smiling like this isn't affecting him at all.
Shadow Milk narrowed his eyes cruelly, his staff glowing with magic and pulsing. "Now now! What's with all the stress? You know this is your fault, right?" He retorted with a hand on his hip, tightening the strings with a wave of his staff. It was clear in his sadistic, manic eyes that he was finding this pleasing.
He decided it was the best to stay quiet. Truthless Recluse pants heavily in exertion, having given up trying to escape. There was no use. A bead of sweat ran down his forehead.
"Finally went limp, hm? As expected. But tell me, my toy," he lifted the other's chin with his wand, forcing eye contact. "You know why you're here, right? You so sadly lost your friends, decided to become a cookie of deceit with me, and left Dark Ench— oops! I mean, your dear 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘓𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘊𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘦, out to crumble."
His shoulders stiffened, face darkening with remorse and anger. "Don't—" he choked, "Don't you dare bring her up like this. She has nothing to do with this."
Shadow Milk giggled, haphazardly flicking his staff away from Truthless Recluse's chin, hitting his face with one fluid motion. He clutches his chest, letting his staff float in the middle of the air. "Oh, you're funny, Vanilly! Nothing to do with me? Huh?" He wiped nonexistent tears from his eyes, smile wide and cocky.
"Did you forget?" With a sudden change of emotion, his voice hushed down and went cold, smile shifting from irritating to terrifying.
"Dark Enchantress Cookie is the one who let me free. She is the one who aided in the building of my body. I have a lot," he paused, taking one last hungry glance at the corrupted healer's bruised face, "to do with her."
Truthless Recluse got goosebumps. His arms began to lose blood flow from where they were positioned. Still yet, he held the jester's gaze. "They aren't the same person." He said with a shaky voice. "Dark Enchantress Cookie is completely different from White Lily Cookie, don't say they are one of the same."
"Wrong answer."
He muttered grimly, smile unchanging as he brought an extra string around Truthless Recluse's neck. He tightened it and tightened it, gazing pleasantly as the other struggles for air, gasping and choking like a fish out of water. Finally, his face went pale and just like that, fainted. His head hung low on the strings.
"The show isn't over, folks. We'll be right back..." He growled lowley.